


Sleeping is not an Option in a Thunderstorm

by captainkittycat, SylverWillow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Astraphobia, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkittycat/pseuds/captainkittycat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylverWillow/pseuds/SylverWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first fic, I'm sorry if it's really awful! Comments, reviews, etc. are MORE than welcome! And if you do, perchance, find this and like this, you can follow me on Tumblr! My URL is youre-always-playingyellowcar.tumblr.com</p><p>More fics in the future! Thanks again :D</p></blockquote>





	Sleeping is not an Option in a Thunderstorm

It was far too early. At least, for one John Watson. No light, except for that radiating off of the street lamp unfortunately placed directly outside John's window. He sighed, covering his head with the pillow nearest it, and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know why he'd woken up so early on this particular morning, just that he had; with, of course, no recollection of the incident. 

Then again, it most likely was because of Sherlock.

The thought made him sit up, looking around the empty room. He saw nothing out of place, but then again, he couldn't really _see_ anything in the dim light. He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes closing as he tried to remember the steps to Ella's method of falling asleep again after a nightmare. John's mind began to drift, but in that moment, he realized why he was awake.

In the distance, he heard a rolling of thunder. 

_Of course it's a thunder storm that woke me up._ He thought angrily to himself, flopping over. Images from the war began to float up through to his conscious thoughts, and he covered his face with his hands, the pillow once over his face long forgotten. Gunshots raced through his memories, and as another roll of thunder sounded through the flat, he scrubbed his face with his hands. For a moment longer, he just sat there, lost in the recollection of the war before a creaking near the door caught his attention. Immediately, his SIG found its way into his hand and he aimed it at the door. 

"John?"

The low baritone called through the door, and, lowering the gun fractionally, he called back with confusion, "Sherlock?"

The man didn't sound as though he'd gotten any sleep yet, which was odd. He always slept when he wasn't on a case. 

"Sherlock, is there something wrong?" 

Another clap of thunder and he heard some shuffling outside the door. Finally, after a moment of silence, the door cracked open, and the man poked his head into the room. John watched him, unable to tell why the man was here and, as a result, lowered his gun to his lap, uncocking it. He placed the weapon onto his nightstand without taking his eyes off of Sherlock, who still wasn't talking. To be honest, that was a little bit more than slightly concerning. Just as soon as John opened his mouth to speak again, another clap of thunder rang through the flat, growing closer. Even though John couldn't see more than Sherlock's shoulders, he could see the way the detective tensed up at the sound.

"Sherlock, are you... afraid of the thunder?"

"No, that's completely absurd."

The man finally piped up, and from what John could tell, shot a glare at him. John couldn't help but chuckle a bit. 

"Come on, then."

He motioned the other man to the bed, and Sherlock slowly obliged, shutting the door behind him and pulling his dressing gown closer to his stomach. At a flash of lightning, he picked his pace up and crawled under the covers, pulling his side of the duvet over his head. John watched with concern for his friend.

"Are you alright?"

His hand rested tentatively over Sherlock's shoulder, and the detective batted it away, in one of his sulking moods. John sighed, staring down at the lump in his sheets. Something was obviously bothering the detective, but if he wouldn't tell him... John swung his legs over the edge of the bed, moving to get up. 

Everything after that happened very quickly. A flash of lightning, a long, bony hand wrapped itself around John's wrist, and, before he knew it, he was laid out flat on the bed with a consulting detective pinning him down. John blinked up at Sherlock, biting his lip and stared, swallowing. The detective loosened his grip on John's wrist and sniffed a bit in dissatisfaction before he lowered himself back to the bed, not touching John again. John swallowed thickly, looking over at Sherlock, and, as another crack of thunder rang through the flat, the detective tensed visibly, flopping over and curling into John's shoulder in one swift movement. John had to stifle a chuckle because, well, that was a bit not good.

"It's alright to be afraid of thunder, you know."

The detective scoffed, looking up at John. "It's completely irrational, and you know it is, John. All it is is the sound of electricity breaking the sound barrier as the lightning breaks through the atmosphere."

Sherlock's voice trailed off, and he cringed closer to the army doctor, swallowing thickly and let out a long, calculated sigh as another flash of lightning lit up the room. John smiled a bit, feeling guilty for considering laughing before as the man braced himself for the inevitable crash of thunder. 

"Okay, maybe it's irrational, yeah." He was cut off by the sound of the thunder. Even though the man had tensed for it, it seemed Sherlock still was slightly put off by the sound and he curled even closer into John's side. "Everyone has an irrational fear." 

Sherlock raised his head from John's shoulder, giving him enough time and space to stretch his arm out and under Sherlock's neck to more comfortably hold the man to his side. John sighed a little as Sherlock shivered from the touch and possibly (probably) from fear. 

"What on earth is your irrational fear, then?" Sherlock asked, genuinely curious as he watched John's face. Snuggling wasn't what they did. In fact, they didn't even share a bed, but that was mostly because Sherlock was reluctant to give up his own personal space to be with John all the time. 

There was also the fact that John didn't want to invite the mold collection under Sherlock's bed into his room.

"You can't deduce it for yourself?" John snickered, but squeezed Sherlock closer when he felt the other man tense as another flash of lightning brightened the room for a fraction of a second. The rain suddenly started to downpour, causing John, at least, to relax a little more. 

"Hey." John pulled Sherlock up gently, looking at him. The taller man wouldn't even bother looking at him, his eyes squeezed closed in anticipation. 

"Hey, look at me." He said a little gentler, kissing Sherlock's head very lightly when the thunder hit. Sherlock pulled away, tucking his head under the covers as he leaned back into John's shoulder. 

"I hate this." 

The detective sounded so young, so broken, and John couldn't help but pull him closer. Never before had he seen Sherlock so upset over something. Yeah, there were always the times he'd curl himself up into a ball on the sofa, trying to block out the world while he sulked from how impossibly _bored_ he was, or the times that he would yell at the world for being too loud. John also threw in, because in a way, it seemed relevant to the situation, the times the great detective yelled for silence at a crime scene when everybody (or even just a few people) were chattering on about their personal ideas on how to go about the situation at hand.

Now, though, all of the tough, outer skin of Sherlock's demeanor was gone. 

"You need a distraction." 

John's hand threaded gently into Sherlock's hair, ignoring the tension that emanated from the other man's body, even as some of it started to dissipate. Sherlock shuddered at the touch, but in turn finally uncurled a little to regard John, his typically piercing eyes dulled by fear. The comparison made John swallow thickly. For a moment, he just lay there, looking at Sherlock before he pulled the detective up into a gentle kiss. Lightning flashed outside the room, and the downpour slowly transformed into a deluge. John sighed softly, not pulling away until after the thunder crashed. The man tensed, but definitely not as much as he had before. 

"That..." The man swallowed a little, looking down at John. The thunder was still rumbling, but it had faded to a low roar rather than a window-shattering boom. John swallowed as well, smiling up at Sherlock.

They never spent much time doing this. That was, really, to be expected, after all. Neither of them were really ready to do more with their relationship other than occasionally have a mid-morning snog on the sofa. Even when they did this, it was once a week if John was lucky. Most of the time, it was because Sherlock declared that he was bored. Really, it seemed, more or less, just to be something to do for the man. Now, though, it was different. Sherlock looked down at John, and something seemed to spark a switch. Sherlock, for once, made that first move, leaning down and capturing John's lips in his own. 

The movement almost made John freeze up. Sherlock was not one for sentiment or expressing himself so openly. The storm, though Sherlock was rather on edge about it, brought out the best in him, or, at least, made him more expressive than he'd ever been. John sighed, relaxing and held Sherlock close to him, only pulling away when the man tensed because of another flash of lightning. He couldn't help chuckling as he pulled him down and kissed his forehead. 

"It's fine, Sherlock. Use that big brain of yours and put it to use doing something else."

Sherlock looked up at John, chewing on his bottom lip before he nodded, closing his eyes and let out a stream of hot breath against John's neck, causing him to shudder. What he wasn't expecting was the hot press of lips to his neck. "Sher--" He stopped himself, swallowing as the lips moved a little, and he flinched when Sherlock bit down as the thunder cracked outside. "Ow!" He pulled away, his hand on his neck where he _knew_ he'd have a bruise tomorrow. 

"Sorry." Sherlock mumbled, his forehead resting against John's cheek. John sighed, shaking his head slightly. 

"Well, now the Yard'll know we're together." 

Sherlock snickered at John's words, looking up at him with a twinkle in his eye. Lightning flashed outside and he cringed, his face twisting up. John's heart melted a little at the man's pain and brushed his hand lightly across his cheek. 

"Think about the scene, it'll be over soon." 

John brushed his hand more onto Sherlock's cheek, sighing into his hair. He didn't say anything else yet, just relaxed there with the rain splashing loudly on the roof. The thunder was seconds away, but he knew if he could time this right... Without warning, he pulled Sherlock down into a mouth-crushing kiss, eliciting a shocked noise from Sherlock. He almost didn't react when the thunder boomed outside. 

"See? You're fine." He said with a smile as he pulled away. Sherlock blinked at him, a small smile playing over his own features as he closed his eyes, curling into John's chest. After a proper snog, it always seemed that Sherlock relaxed, even if only a little. John, in turn, closed his eyes as well, listening as the thunder slowly made its way away from their flat. Sherlock was now tracing small circles on John's shirt with his finger, and John caught on a little late that he was, perchance, writings words. He didn't ask what they were, but smiled as he could hazard a guess. Sherlock paused in his movements for a moment, looking up at John.

"John?"  
"Yeah?"  
"You never told me what your irrational fear was."

John laughed, ruffling up the detective's curls, earning himself a glare as the man began to compulsively fix his hair, as he always did whenever John messed it up. John smirked at him, waiting for him to finish picking at the curls and placing them back where they belonged before he finally put voice to the words in his head.

"Do you really want to know what it is?"  
"Obviously, John. I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know."  
"My irrational fear is losing you."

Sherlock blinked, looking up at John for a moment before he sighed, rolling his eyes in the dark. Though John couldn't see, he knew that was most likely the reaction he earned from that overly-sentimental remark. 

What Sherlock did next surprised him. He lowered himself back to John's tee-shirt-clad chest, letting out a soft sigh and, though John couldn't see, felt Sherlock's mouth turn up slightly in a smile before the man spoke.

"So is mine."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, I'm sorry if it's really awful! Comments, reviews, etc. are MORE than welcome! And if you do, perchance, find this and like this, you can follow me on Tumblr! My URL is youre-always-playingyellowcar.tumblr.com
> 
> More fics in the future! Thanks again :D


End file.
